More Vodka and Lemonade

bottomsup

Welcome To Oscar’s Tavern!

Wow! I’ve never guest posted before. What an honor! Thanks!
Oscar is off to Puerto Rico for a business trip. Have fun and be safe my friend!!
 
I can’t suggest a good meal because everything that comes out of the kitchen here is treat for the taste buds. I think I’ll leave that up to the real employees. They are always right on target when it comes to producing a great tasting lunch and find just the right beverage to accompany the meal.
 
It has always been a dream of mine to be behind a professional bar in charge of all the good stuff. I want to be like a real bartender and hear all your stories. I find people are amazing and the things they’ve lived through no fiction writer can make up.
 
Let me tell you a story. Maybe it will loosen your tongue. (I was reminded of it when Oscar mentioned a drink here. The ingredients are iced tea, vodka and lemonade. It’s not the ice tea I mind, but anything with vodka and lemonade makes me break out in a cold sweat.
 
When I was a teen, I had a “goody two-shoes” image. Needless to say, I got away with things my mom and dad would never imagine I would do. One time when I was working in a fast food joint I got out of work and found that several of my sisters friends were hanging out in one of the guy’s van. It was a van with no side or back windows. You can do a lot in van like that. We didn’t do THAT, what we did was drink. You got it, vodka and lemonade. The lemonade we purchased from the fast food place. The vodka. I didn’t ask.. I just drank. (I was just a stupid underage teen doing something illegal and if I would have gotten caught, I would have been grounded until I turned 30, or worse.)
 
So as we sat in the van drinking and smoking, the talk got funnier and funnier. I paid less and less attention to how much I was drinking. We were having such a good time. We were so cool (she said with her tongue firmly in her cheek).  I felt especially cool because my eldest sister wasn’t there making me feel like a dork, I was treated like part of the crowd, being handed drink after drink with the rest of the group. I remember talking, laughing and flirting. This was amazing because as a teen I was quiet, serious and wouldn’t know how to flirt without illustrated instructions. Ah, life was good.
 
Finally, it was time to go. Another friend who had gone to grade school with my eldest sister had just pulled up in the fast food parking lot. The back doors of the van opened, I stood up to get out, hit the cool air and . . . and . . . started to sob. I don’t know if it was the amount of alcohol plus the fresh air, but something started me off. My sister’s friend poured me into his backseat, dropped off five other of my drinking buddies and finally dropped me off. He asked me if I could walk. I finally hiccuped my last sob, nodded my head (holding it so it wouldn’t fall off) and stumbled out of the car. My sister’s friend asked me if I need help. Like any belligerent drunk, I shook him off. He shook his head, but stayed and watched my progress.
 
See full size imageI lived in a typical Chicago bungalow growing up. We had a nice size front porch with a number of steps. The number of steps seemed multiplied by 100 as I dragged myself up the front porch and rang the bell. And rang the bell. And rang the bell. I knew my mom wasn’t home, so I was safe. Dad didn’t live with us, so I knew I was safe. But, alas, the sisters weren’t answering the door. Clinging to the “railing” which were actually cement seating areas, I inched my way down the steps, across the front lawn and down the gangway. (That passageway between two houses  that led to the backyard for those unfamiliar with the lingo.) The sidewalk in the gangway kept moving, but I was smart. I just moved with it.
 
Finally, I got to the backyard. I had to go down the basement steps to the basement door. My dad had remodeled the whole basement into a laundry room, “rec” room, office and a bedroom. I lived down there when I was a teen. Better to avoid the Mom that way. So after tripping (literally) down the stairs, I banged on the basement door. Lo and behold, the oldest sister answered the door. She had been down there with her boyfriend. And no, I didn’t think to ask what they were doing. She wasn’t pleased. I had interrupted.. So she took one look at me and told me to go to bed. I did, after talking nonsensically for about 10 minutes straight.
 
I finally laid down. Did I sleep? No. The room was spinning. I was getting dizzy. I was getting SICK. I was sick all over the bed, the table and the floor before I finally made it to the laundry tubs. I was SICK again and again and again. Finally, the storm subsided. My oldest sister had to change the bed, wipe off the table and floor, hose down the laundry tubs, and finally, change me. She put me to bed. This time she gave me a towel and told me to use it if I felt sick again. I didn’t. I passed out.
 
Morning came. There was still a slight stench of sick hanging in the air. My head was hurting and my tongue felt like there was a cotton, bad tasting and smelling cotton, snake wrapped around it. My stomach was empty and I vowed it would remain so until I lost the green color of my skin. It took a few hours.
 
So, now when I look at vodka and lemonade, I just turn my head and eat crackers to stop the nausea. Yes, all these years later. Vodka and lemonade will never mix, at least not with me. It was a tough lesson to learn, but learned it I did and very well. The swill has never passed my lips again.
 
My mom never found out. My oldest sister held it over my head for months and got me to do whatever she wanted me to. If my kids ever did this, I’d kill them, or at least ground them until they were 30.
 
The phrase “Stupid is as stupid does” is going around and around in my head. I know is a rip off of a line from Forest Gump, but it fits.
 
I can’t believe I told you this story. But now you know why I usually stick with Miller Lite or a glass of wine. I think this story deserves a Miller Lite, don’t you? One. What do you think, Charlene? 
“I Believe you deserve a cool Miller Lite!   Willy! Set ‘er up!”
Thanks!
Thaaaats Right!   Suprised Mom!
 
Ciao!
 
Nice O!  huh?
 
 
(si , gracias por tu ayuda mi amiga! SM!)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

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~ by Oscar on July 23, 2009.

4 Responses to “More Vodka and Lemonade”

  1. Great story! I immediately knew who the author had to be and I love her writing. I’m gonna have another one of those iced tea doohickies. They were good.

  2. Ah! Well will you look at that!

  3. Surprised Mom, I’ve often thought that you and I were similar creatures and this story proves it. One of my earliest drinking experiences was so much like this one. I didn’t have a few sips. I gulped. Vodka and orange juice. I thought I was so bold. My friends took me to a party. I threw up in a snowbank on the way to the car. I can’t remember the party except for hanging on to the wall at the house to keep from falling over and hearing someone laugh, “Look at that girl!” The next day I was miserable beyond miserable. I had to go to mass with my first and worst hangover of my life. And like you, my sister was the only one who knew and also held it over my head. I’ve never had a screwdriver again!

  4. @Terri, You and I will have to meet and compare growing up stories. It sounds like we could be sisters under the skin!

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